Edwina lowered her gaze. “It is,” she said.
Miles moved to sit next to her on the bench, and his nearness provided her with immense comfort. “Before you make any rash decisions, let Bennett try to sort this out with Lord Dallington.”
“And if he can’t?” Edwina asked, bringing her gaze back up.
“Then I will give the village ten thousand pounds and you can decide how it is spent,” Miles replied, his tone resolute.
Edwina’s mouth dropped. “You cannot be in earnest!”
“I am,” Miles replied, leaning in closer. “As I said before, your happiness is of great importance to me, Edwina. I will do anything to win your favor.”
Overwhelmed by his kindness, Edwina’s heart swelled with emotion. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to do such a thing.”
Miles reached out and gently took her hand in his own. “You didn’t ask. I offered,” he said. “And I would do it again, just to see you smile.”
Edwina stared at Miles in astonishment. How could shenot love this man? He was the man of her dreams, the one she never thought she would have. But he wasn’t hers.
However, that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy this moment. The way he was looking at her made her feel beautiful. Giving her hope that perhaps he might one day love her as much as she loved him.
It was sheer foolishness on her part, but why couldn’t she pretend? Just for now.
Chapter Eighteen
The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over the music room where Miles sat with the ladies. Elodie’s skilled fingers danced across the ivory keys of the pianoforte while Melody’s voice soared in perfect harmony. Edwina sat on a camelback settee with her head bent over her needlework.
Miles held a book in his hand but it had long been forgotten. His thoughts were consumed by Edwina. He wanted to marry her, and he was doing a poor job of trying to convince her of such. He knew her reasons for turning down his offer, but he couldn’t help but hope that she would change her mind.
The internal struggle between his desire for Edwina and his duty to Arabella weighed heavily on his heart. The familiar stab of guilt tugged at him once again, as it had been doing ever since he met Edwina.
Edwina lifted her head from her needlework and met his gaze. “You haven’t even opened your book yet, my lord,” she said.
Miles should have felt some embarrassment for beingcaught staring at her, but he felt none. Instead, he smiled. “I’m afraid it hasn’t caught my attention.”
“You might try opening the book and reading before coming to that conclusion,” Edwina remarked, a spark of mirth dancing in her eyes.
Miles chuckled. “Perhaps I shall.” He rose from his seat and moved to sit next to her on the settee. “Do you play the pianoforte?”
“I do,” Edwina replied, turning her gaze towards Elodie who was still playing. “But not quite as magnificently as my cousin.”
“Can you sing?” Miles inquired.
Edwina made a face. “No, I possess the vocal prowess of a rusted wagon wheel.”
Miles grinned at her unique comparison. “That is rather specific.”
“It is true, I’m afraid,” Edwina said.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Miles asked, “Then what are you good at?”
Edwina lowered the needlework she had been working on to her lap. “I enjoy painting and I have been told that I have some skill in it.”
“Who told you that?”
Edwina’s lips twitched. “My father.”
“Only your father?”
With a graceful gesture towards a painting hanging on the far wall, Edwina replied, “You may decide for yourself. I painted that one last summer.”
